I have a twist on this.
I had a couple of spare cuff rings that I hadn’t modified, so I brought one of them into work the next day, along with my favorite CB3000, and the assorted spacers, KSD-G3, etc. It being Friday, everybody at work left early for the 3 day holiday weekend (Labor Day here in the US). This gave me a chance to sand and polish the sharp edges of the ring, and do a few dry fits with the 3k. After an hour or so, I wanted to make sure I hadn’t missed any sharp edges, so I popped up into my office to put it on. I applied a little lotion, assembled the KSD, the spacer, the pins, and locked it on with the Masterlock that I reserve for testing.
A perfect fit!
This isn’t surprising; I probably do two of these a year, since we’re a bit hard on the Beaver chastity cages around here. No, the surprising thing was when when I went for the key, I discovered that it was not on my keyring.
What the hell?
Oh, right. I remembered that I removed a bunch of keys when we went to the in-law’s this summer. So, I was stuck until I could get home; no big deal.
After I got home, and still having some daylight, I changed into my bike shorts and headed out for a ride. When I got back, I cooked dinner (some seasoned rib-eye steaks on the grill, and some steamed fresh broccoli heads). Mrs. Edge and I cleaned up the kitchen, then she went downstairs to watch TV, and I started rummaging around on my dresser. I found the ring of odd keys that I had removed: my shed key, a key to a filing cabinet at work, one for a bike lock, and the small, steel padlock key. I went into the bathroom to use it.
It didn’t fit!
I went through the keys again. Nope, too big. Nope, definitely the shed key. Nope, the file cabinet. It’s gotta be this one. This time it went in, but it felt raspy and it wouldn’t turn.
Dammit!
Now, if this were a typical piece of wank fiction, this would be about the point where Mrs. Edge comes upstairs to find me fiddling with the lock, only to tell me that she’s been unhappy with the way I haven’t been doing the washing up lately, and that she purposely hid (or destroyed) the test lock key, knowing that I’d be using it sooner or later. I would meekly succumb to her chastisement (in the correct form of the term), and end the story with something like “And I have no idea when it’s going to come off, if ever.”
Well, this isn’t a story. In real life, I went back through the box of spacers, modified devices, rings, pins, etc., and there, at the very bottom of the box I found it.
No, not the key.That would be too easy.
I found the test lock.
Whenever Mrs. Edge unlocks me, her routine is to keep the lock with her key, which is on a special holder. Since I covered all the locks with black plastic tubing in order to keep them from clack-clacking against the cage, I didn’t notice that it was not the same as the one I normally use, the one I have my own key for. So, what was this lock?
Suddenly, I remembered. It was the second lock that we had bought for when she had to go to Bangalore last year. It had never been used, but we prepared it in case I had to remove the original lock; it was supposed to have been a backup. Apparently I had just tossed it into the box with the other bits of equipment.
Damn.
So, I went downstairs to to discover that the Edgelette was in the room watching TV with her; I decided to wait until later in order to ask for her key. But after 15 minutes, she suddenly announced that she was exhausted, and was going to bed. I followed her up a few minutes later, and to my surprise, she was already asleep.
Dammit. Again.
Full story here:
When life imitates (bad) art